M'Aimer
by Ryrahd
Summary: [Love Me... ] ExT. My take on how Eriol confesses his love for Tomoyochan. Eriol’s POV shameless usage of French and beware of “beautiful”. Les revues ont apprécié beaucoup.


A/N: I've been feeling like sap lately.

Disclaimer: everything but the story itself is copyrighted CLAMP, not I, and thus I lay no claim over it.

**M'Aimer...**

I walk down the nearly deserted streets. It's morning – too early for any sane person to be outside of their comfy bed, but then again, when did I ever say that I was normal? – and there's a fog covering the earth. It's cool and refreshing against my skin, the tiny droplets of water, invisible to the eye but simple there, soothing away the night's lack of sleep. I feel out of place, out of character, almost like a walking dream, a wraith of a bygone phantasm. I don't feel real, my every move an unconscious action, like I'm a marionette being moved, deviously, by the puppeteer.

I had not slept last night, tossing and turning in my bed until the sheets became crimpled and sweaty. I didn't know what to do, and every time I would open my eyes, I'd be greeted with images of your eyes and smile. It would be like a twisted, contorted nightmare, so painful and pleasurable at the same time. And then I would hear your laugher, the ominous toll of the bell; I wanted to weep.

The morning breeze is picking up speed, viciously attacking my hair. I take a breath to steady myself, to remind me that everything would have an end, favourable or not. My steps carry over the silent schoolyard. The sound, itself, is lonely, sharply contrasting against the stillness of the morning. I feel like an intruder, even though I know I have a perfect right to come to school early. I don't want to stand out, I want to be just like anybody else, a faceless person in the background worshipping you.

I have no idea when I started to think of you that way. I shrug. Maybe I had such thoughts from the beginning but was too preoccupied with Sakura Cards to fully comprehend them. I just woke up one day, and suddenly the world seemed different – brighter or happier. I don't know, but I saw your light for the first time then, it seemed, and I felt instantaneously drawn to it. Your light – beauty – blinded me, yet with every glimpse of it, I wanted more. And now, I find myself walking to school with a note in my pocket and a heart in my throat.

I want to be with you, and I know that such thoughts are forbidden, like a taste of glass candy (1) or of happiness. I want to touch you, to hold and caress you, tenderly, as a lover would. I want to kiss you and have you kiss me back. I want to go to sleep at night with you snuggled warmly into my arms, and I want to wake up to see your smiling face. I want to spend my life with you; I realize this now, because I doubt there could have been anyone else for me. You are perfect, everything that I am not, and because of this, you complete me. Together, we are whole, like the night and the day, separate yet at the same time in sync with each other. And like the night, I only exist to wake and see the glorious day.

I enter the empty classroom, chairs and rows of desks greeting me. I make my way to my seat, all the way in the back of the room, right behind yours. The sun is filtering through the large windows, spilling brilliant golden light into the room. The softwood of your desk absorbs that light, almost prophetically. As I reach into my pocket to remove the note – folded neatly into squares of rose-patterned stationary – my hands are trembling. Ignoring that, I place the letter on the top. I can't take it back now, I realize as it stares jeeringly back up at me. This is my only chance.

I take out a heavy book from my bag – _War and Peace_; I've seen you reading this once – and turned to the page I marked, even though I've read this book before. One by one my classmates filter into the room, in pares or by their lonesome selves, all chattering. But I don't notice, their voices have become a sort of background noise to me, just as their curious stares. I know that they're wondering what someone like me could be doing in school so early, but I won't give them the satisfaction of answering, or even acknowledge their existence.

Their voices hush, as if on cue, and I lift my head to see you come – no, descend from heaven. There's a serene smile on your face, the tenderness of which makes me want to die in ecstasy. Your hair is pulled back, stirring gently by the breeze that seeps through the open window, imaginary cherubs holding out to the stay wisps of hair. You remind me of Botticelli's The Birth of Venus. You glance at me and your periwinkle eyes warm up, dancing.

I bite the inside of my cheek. Gods, you're beautiful.

You make your way to your seat, murmuring polite "hello"s to everyone around you. I note how your eyes widen slightly when you see the note. You reach for it. I want to sink into my seat, I want to disappear or die. No, not that; I'm afraid of what you'd say, of what you won't say, and I pray and wish and hope that I'll hear your response, if it were not for the ringing in my ears. And if I die, I'll never know.

Instead I hold my breath and continue biting on my cheek. I can taste the metallic essence of blood on my tongue.

My knees are quivering, my hands are shaking and I have to tighten my grip on the thick tome on my desk in order to make my anxiousness seem inconspicuous. My heart is racing inside my chest; it's so loud, I'm afraid that you'd be able to hear it and then would laugh at my stupidity and my heart. I feel nervousness settle in my stomach, in a huge, maw-like embrace. I can't hear anything anymore; there is only an ominous silence, the beat of my heart echoing through my body and your soft breathing in front of me. I think... I think I'm terrified.

I don't need to lean over your shoulder to steal a peek at the note, like I usually do, jealously, when you receive such small gifts. There is no need for that, I already know what the letter contains, and, despite myself, wish I didn't. A jolt of electricity-like sensation runs down my spine and I think I see my entire life passing before my eyes. I shouldn't have put that note there, I shouldn't have written it, period. But I was nervous, anxious and so eager to get over with it.

For a moment I wonder what would happen if you said "no". I hate the thought, but if I have to be realistic, I must admit it's highly likely. If that were to happen, I think I'd die; my heart would just... stop.

You finish scanning the note, it takes you mere seconds, but I feel decades fly by. I know that you know it's from me, but I don't say anything. You smile at me and the light envelops you. I can't decide whether the glow is coming from the rays of sunlight or your sheer magnificence. It bathes you and swallows you whole, and at this moment, I think you're more beautiful than I've ever seen you.

"Je tiendrai ta main, et je ne te réveillerai jamais, je te tiendrai dans mes bras, t'embrasserai et t'aimerai comme tu m'as aimé. Et je ne te quitterai jamais," you say softly, like a new-born spring, smiling. I will hold your hand, and I will never wake you up; I will hold you and kiss you and love you as you have loved me. And I will never let you go.

I might have died, but I know that it was worth it to see you like this. And so I, too, smile and your brilliance swathes us both.

Touche ma main, dis moi que je ne rêve pas. Et si je le suis, ne me réveille jamais. Rejoins moi, embrasse moi, aime moi, ressens pour moi ce que je ressens pour toi. Surtout ne me quitte jamais.

Touch my hand, tell me I am not dreaming. And if I am, never wake me up. Join me, kiss me, love me; feel for me as I have felt for you. Just never leave my side.

Finis

(1) Pseudonym Sylphmuse, if you read this, hope you didn't mind me using this analogy; I thought it was befitting this story.

Edit: Thank you to Fay for correcting my French, it was much appreciated!


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